by Evans, Tabor
Bligh grimaced. “Just last week there was another robbery. Same deal all the way around. Two people in dusters with flour-sack hoods and what I am told were very large shotguns. They took everything.”
Longarm grunted.
“It’s like I told you,” Noogie said. “None of us can figure it out, Longarm. I truly hope you can come up with something.”
“So do I,” Longarm admitted. “So do I.”
Chapter 35
“We might see Tom again later,” Noogie said as they left the bank.
Longarm raised an eyebrow, but DiNunzio did not add to the comment. Instead he changed the subject and pointed down the street toward a tall building that was obviously a commercial establishment of some sort but had no sign posted outside.
“That’s our other bank,” he said, “but there’s no point in us talking to them.”
“They haven’t been robbed?” Longarm asked.
“Nope. But then they’re a different sort of bank. I don’t understand it, really, but they’re what they call an investment bank. They deal mostly in paper and promises, not cash. They’re for the high rollers, not for us working guys.” Noogie smiled. “Anyway, I got some things I need to do. What do you say I meet you back at my office about, oh, six o’clock. We’ll go have supper and then I’ll take you to a place that I like.” He winked. “You’ll like it, too, and that’s a promise.”
“What sort of…?”
DiNunzio held his hand up to stop the questioning. “You’ll see. Trust me.”
Longarm grinned. “The last time you told me that I damn near got shot by a jealous husband.”
“Hey, give me a break here. How was I to know the woman was married!”
“All right. I’ll trust you. But just this one more time.” Longarm laughed. “I’ll see you about six then, Noogie.”
Longarm left his friend and collected his carpetbag from Georgia, making the excuse that he needed to be able to observe the activities in town. Part of the job he was on, he explained. He did not mention the new husband’s incessant commentary as the reason for his flight from Georgia’s house. Instead he gave her a kiss on the cheek and his thanks and let it go at that.
He carried his bag in town and stopped at the first hotel he came to. The place was not grand, but it appeared to be clean…and there was no Ben Andrews present to talk his ears off.
“Of course we’ll take your voucher for payment. You’re a deputy marshal, you say? Wonderful. That should make us safer, just having you here, right? Your room is upstairs and to the left. Number six. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.” The clerk handed Longarm a key with a numbered tag dangling from it and pointed to the staircase.
“Send up some hot water, please.”
“Do you need a tub or just a pitcher?”
“A pitcher will do,” Longarm told the man, rubbing his cheek to check the state of his whiskers. He definitely needed a wash and a shave before whatever Noogie had in mind because whatever it was, it was apt to involve women. The ladies were Noogie’s vice, as Longarm learned long since.
Not that he was complaining, he thought with a wry smile as he stripped off his clothes and dipped a cloth into the basin of warm water.
Chapter 36
“You’re right,” Longarm said as they walked out of the restaurant, picking his teeth and rubbing his very full belly. “That was the best meal I’ve had in a long while.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.” DiNunzio smiled. “Now we get to the good part of the evening.”
“And that would be…?”
DiNunzio’s smile only got wider. He did not explain.
He led Longarm to a quiet—or at least as quiet as Deadwood seemed to get—residential street at the edge of town and to a two-story house with flowerpots on the porch and lamps glowing in the windows.
“You’ll like this place,” Noogie said as they mounted the steps and approached the front door.
Longarm looked but there were no obvious indications of just exactly what sort of place it was. He could, however, guess.
Noogie tapped lightly on the door, which was promptly opened by a huge man, black as night and so filled with health and vitality that he looked like he had been oiled. His smile when he saw DiNunzio was wide. “Marshal. Welcome. Come inside, sir.”
Noogie beamed as he turned toward Longarm and said, “Dennis, this is my old friend Custis Long. Custis, this is Dennis Demaio.” He laughed. “With a name like that we think Dennis must be Italian. Me and him could even be related.”
“Don’t pay attention to him, Marshal,” the bouncer said. “We don’t pay him any mind.”
Demaio had a slight accent. British, Longarm thought? He wanted to ask where the man was from but refrained, common courtesy overcoming curiosity.
“Come inside. Please,” Demaio said, ushering them into an opulently furnished parlor. “Miss Theresa will be out in a moment. Please sit down. She will be out in a moment.”
There were several whores already in the room. Two of them squealed with joy when they saw DiNunzio enter. The girls were young and pretty and elegantly dressed.
Miss Theresa, Longarm thought, must surely deal with an upper-crust clientele. He wondered how Noogie could afford girls like these on a town marshal’s salary.
Longarm was halfway across the room when it occurred to him that Dennis had greeted him as “Marshal.” He was only introduced by name, not by title.
Before he had time to chew on that thought the room was suddenly filled to overflowing with the presence of Miss Theresa.
Theresa Bullea was slim, elegant, every inch what Longarm thought of as a lady. When she spoke her accent matched Dennis’s. Probably, he guessed, the two came from the same distant place. They must have been together for some length of time.
“What a pleasure to meet you, Marshal Long,” she said, extending her hand.
On an impulse, instead of shaking the woman’s hand, Longarm bowed over it and kissed the air a half inch or so above the woman’s warm, scented flesh.
Theresa had light brown hair done up and pinned. She had golden brown eyes and a heart-shaped mouth. She was fairly tall for a woman, probably five feet six or seven. Her perfume was delicate, the scent indefinable. Not flowery but very sensual. But then Theresa herself was very sensual. An aura of sexuality surrounded her.
Longarm felt himself growing hard just from being in the same room with her. “My pleasure, ma’am,” he said.
“Please. Sit. Make this your home while you visit us here in our dear little Deadwood.” She made a moue. “Such a terrible name for such a dear town, no?”
Longarm found himself agreeing with her. Hell, he would have agreed with this woman if she said the sun was blue. And never mind that Deadwood, Dakota Territory, was a noisy, stinking, muddy hellhole of a place. If Theresa Bullea said it was a dear little place, well, then it was one awfully damn dear little place. End of subject.
“Custis is your name, yes?” she said, taking his arm and guiding him to a comfortable chair. “I had an uncle named Custis. Such a nice name. But oh, such a terrible end for my dear uncle. He died, you see. In Africa. Killed by some Hottentot or”—she waved her hand dismissively—“or one of those aborigines. I can’t begin to keep them straight.” She laughed—delightfully, Longarm thought—and added, “Even Dennis cannot keep them straight, and he comes from one of them.”
Theresa motioned to one of the girls, a stunning redhead with porcelain skin and artificially red lips, and said, “Bring the marshal anything he likes, Agnes.” She turned back to Longarm, cocked her head to the side in thought, and said, “Let me see, your preference is for rye whiskey, is it not? Rye, Agnes. Our best.”
Noogie had been following them. He said, “The usual for me, Aggie. Theresa, these robberies are sure to be cleared up now that Longarm is here. He’s the best there is.”
“Is that why he is here, Noogie? Oh, I am so glad.” She shuddered. “We all worry.” To Longarm she said, “We are accusto
med to the occasional strong-arm robbery. Even to a holdup now and then. But these road agents are frightening. I am afraid to have a drive in my phaeton.” She shook her head sadly. “And transporting my girls here from the east. It is all quite discouraging.”
“Don’t worry, Theresa,” Noogie said. “My pal Longarm already has some ideas about this. Those highwaymen will be behind bars before you can say Yankee Doodle.”
That was news to Longarm, but then Noogie never had been one to worry about anything as inconsequential as the truth when there were women involved.
Agnes returned with a tall drink for Longarm and a cup of steaming coffee for Noogie the teetotaler. A second girl, just as beautiful but a head shorter, was with her carrying a tray of iced cookies.
Longarm was still full from dinner, but…the cookies were every bit as good as they looked.
And the girls were not so bad-looking, either.
Noogie DiNunzio’s idea of a pleasant evening was not entirely terrible, Longarm decided.
Chapter 37
“Agnes, we will not be needing your services, thank you.”
“But, Miss Terry…”
“Tish tosh, dear. No ‘buts’ if you please. I shall see that you are properly compensated.” She linked her arm into Longarm’s. “Tonight the marshal is mine, dear.”
“Yes, miss.” The girl bobbed her head and turned away.
It occurred to Longarm that “Miss Terry” ran a tight ship here. There would be no backtalk or misbehavior from her girls.
And what a splendid cadre of girls they were. While Longarm sipped his drink—the rye really was superb; he wondered where the hell she found it because he would love to lay in a supply of his own when he got back to Denver—a bevy of beauties wandered in and out of the parlor, as did a small but steady flow of customers, all of whom seemed to belong in the upper end of Deadwood’s social register.
There were girls of all description. Tall and short, blond and brunette. White, black, brown, and yellow. And every one a beauty. There was even a fat girl with one leg. Longarm had no idea what sort of man might want her but obviously there was a need for her services or she would not be here.
Terry rested her hand on Longarm’s leg. On his thigh, actually. Very high up on his thigh.
She looked down and could hardly miss seeing the lump in his trousers caused by his hard-on, which had only become more insistent now that she was seated practically in his lap.
Terry laughed and leaned close to whisper, “Interested?” He was aware of the warmth of her breath in his ear almost as much as the meaning of that single word.
By way of an answer he reached over to cup her left breast in his hand and gently squeeze.
Terry laughed, took that hand in hers and stood. “Ladies,” she announced, “if there is anything short of the house catching fire, take your difficulties to Dennis. I shall be busy, thank you.”
Head high and smiling, she led Longarm through a narrow hallway into the back of the house where she had a suite of private rooms, including her office.
And a bedroom.
Quite a bedroom, in fact.
It was beautifully furnished in mahogany and satin, the predominant colors pink and white. The lady definitely had a fine and discriminating taste.
“Do you like?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” he said, looking not at the room but into Theresa’s eyes.
“Good,” she responded. “Would you like a drink?”
He had no recollection of what he might have done with the first drink he was given, but it was no longer in his hand. “No,” he said. “Everything I’m interested in is right here.” He maintained eye contact with her throughout the comment.
Theresa’s smile became wider. “Then why delay?” she asked.
Theresa stepped gracefully over to the side of the bed and began removing her gown.
Chapter 38
“I wish I was an artist,” Longarm said.
Terry’s eyebrows rose and she said, “What a very odd comment.”
“No, I mean it. I’d like t’ be able to paint you, just exactly the way you look right now.”
Her smile became kittenish. She struck a pose, one leg placed slightly ahead of the other. Head high and back arched to better show off her tits, which were firm, high, and pink-tipped.
“I’ll be damned,” he blurted when she turned to face him squarely. His eyes were drawn to her crotch where there was…nothing. No hair. Not a strand.
He laughed. “I’d like t’ know who your barber is so’s I can go watch you getting that shave.”
“Then perhaps I shall allow you to watch the next time Dennis shaves me.” She lifted her arms to show that she had no underarm hair, either. In fact he could not find a bit of hair anywhere other than on her head. “Do you like it?” she asked.
He hesitated while he pondered that question. Then he nodded. “Yeah. I think I do.”
“It is especially nice when one is performing cunnilingus,” Terry said.
“Cunning-what?”
“Eating pussy, silly.”
“Ah. That I do understand.”
“Have you ever eaten a bald pussy?”
“No, I reckon not.”
“Then you must try it, my dear.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I really oughta do that.”
“I can’t think of any better time than the present.”
“D’you think so?”
“Oh, indeed I do.” She stepped close to him and quickly unbuttoned him, yanking his clothing off in a mad hurry now.
When they both were naked Longarm bent, scooped her behind the knees, and carried her to the big bed. He deposited the woman there and lay down beside her.
Terry’s mouth was fresh. She tasted lightly of mint. Her tongue was hot and eager, probing his mouth at the same time as he was investigating hers. Her breath began to quicken. He took that as his cue to take things a step further.
He reached for her right breast. Cupped it. Squeezed it. Rolled her nipple, now very hard, between his thumb and forefinger.
“Lick me,” she demanded.
This, he was reminded, was a woman who was accustomed to giving orders and to being obeyed. Custis Long was no woman’s pet dog on a leash. But in this case he did not mind obeying Theresa Bullea. He bent his head to her left tit and licked and suckled that nipple, then shifted to the other.
“Now my pussy, dear. Lick me.”
Longarm grunted. And wriggled down across her belly to her naked cunt, his tongue moving across her flesh as he went.
Terry was right. It was…different…eating a pussy that had no hair. She tasted fresh and clean down there, too. She must just have finished douching before she joined them in the parlor.
He fleetingly wondered if that timing was coincidence. Or if she had had this in mind even before she met him.
No, probably not, he realized. She knew there was a deputy U.S. marshal in town, that much was obvious, but she could not have known what he looked like or that she would be attracted to him.
As for whether he would be attracted to her, hell, he could not think of a man alive who would not be.
Terry began to moan and to writhe beneath his fluttering tongue, and Longarm went back to paying attention to business. He did not want to waste a moment’s awareness while he was with this exceptionally beautiful woman.
Chapter 39
“Nice,” he murmured. Longarm was lying on Terry’s bed, propped up with four feather pillows and with an ashtray resting on his chest.
“Better than merely nice,” she said as she trimmed the twist off a cigar and popped it into his mouth. She struck a match and lighted the panatela for him, then stretched out beside him. “If I could find more men like you, dear man, I could open a bordello for ladies. You are that good.”
“If you could find more that’re really like me, darlin’, you couldn’t get them t’ work in your whorehouse. They’d be wanting more t’ life than just the night.”
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She sighed. “I suppose you are right about that. Men do tend to like to work.” Terry chuckled. “As it happens, I like my work rather well, too.” She reached over and plucked the cigar out of his mouth, held it to her own rouged lips and took a drag and then returned it to him.
“Thinking of work,” she said, “tell me about yours.”
Longarm shrugged. “Damn, this cigar is mild,” he said.
“Oh, go ahead. Tell me about your search for those robbers. Noogie said you have some leads. What are they?”
“Nothing, really. Noogie tends t’ exaggerate things, y’know.”
“Well if you don’t want to tell me,” she pouted.
“No, I’m serious. There’s nothing t’ tell. Yet.”
“But soon. Do you think you will know something soon?”
He shrugged again. “You never know ’bout these things. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that I’ll keep after ’em.”
“Until they are dead?”
“My purpose ain’t to kill, darlin’. I’d ruther bring ’em in for trial.”
“And hanging?”
“In this country we don’t hang folks for robbing. For murder we do, but not for robbing.”
“Being locked away in jail would be like being killed though, wouldn’t it,” Terry said.
“To some types of men I suppose it would be. That’s their choice, though. They do a crime; they go to prison. It’s simple.”
“It is barbaric,” she said. “But in my country someone can be hanged for robbery.”
“Where’s that?” he asked.
Terry did not answer. Instead she bounded off the bed and grabbed a dressing gown out of her chifforobe. “Come. Join me. I need to check on my girls and you would like a drink, no?”
“I would like a drink, yes,” he said, rising and starting to dress.
He took another long look at Terry before she covered up all that beauty. Damn, but she was a good-looking woman. She had a body as sleek as a seal, and she knew how to use it to please a man.
